Chapter Eighteen #2
‘Relationships are complicated. Marriage is not the ticket to happiness that most people seem to think it is. It needs to be worked at.’
‘You’re telling me!’ she replies. ‘We’re very different, you know.
I’m like a magpie, attracted to shiny things.
Cavill just wants a quiet life. He’s old before his time, and I’m young.
’ She stands up briskly and paces the room, one hand on her hip, the other scratching the back of her head in agitation.
‘I miss New York. I miss the city. It’s quiet here.
Too quiet. I thought a stage would satisfy me.
I thought this was all I wanted. Turns out it’s a mirage.
It’s not what I dreamed at all. I’m not cut out for it.
I’m not cut out for this place.’ Her voice hardens.
‘This deadbeat town where nothing happens but tea parties, and endless games of cards.’
I watch her in fascination and hope that Nessa takes a long time to make the tea, because Gilda is opening up like a waterlily and all sorts of things are flying out. I don’t fill the brief pauses as she catches her breath but allow her to fully express her frustration.
She spins round and looks at me in supplication. ‘What should I do, Skippy? Tell me what to do!’
I’m caught off guard. I wasn’t expecting this. ‘Does Cavill know how you feel?’ I ask, afraid to hear her response. Guilty again for that afternoon at the inn. Guilty for taking Eddie down that road without being certain of her consent. Even though Gilda is as deceiving as I am.
‘No. Cavill doesn’t know how I feel. But I have to tell him, or I’ll lose my mind.’
I decide to take a plunge. ‘Is there someone else?’ I ask.
She stares at me suddenly, like a cornered fox, eyes wild and fearful. ‘No,’ she lies, and looks away. ‘Of course not. I’m not that kind of girl.’
Not such a bad actress, after all. ‘I’m sorry,’ I reply. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you that.’
‘It’s all right, Skippy. We’re friends, you and I.’
There’s a knock on the door. Gilda goes to open it. Nessa comes in with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting,’ she says. ‘Would you like one too, Skippy? I’m sorry, I should have thought of that.’
‘I would, thank you,’ I reply in order to get rid of her.
Gilda takes the cup and thanks her. Nessa leaves, closing the door softly behind her. Gilda turns to me again. ‘I’m sorry for burdening you with my problems,’ she says, and takes a sip. ‘Life is hard, isn’t it? Can one ever be happy?’
‘Happiness is a state of mind,’ I reply, repeating the cliché that always pops up on Instagram. ‘The trick is to find a deep, inner contentment that’s permanent and unaffected by superficial surface emotions. And to prevent anything from disturbing that inner contentment.’
She chuckles. ‘I don’t imagine many people achieve that. Monks maybe.’ She sighs and takes another sip of tea. ‘The truth is, Skippy, I don’t think I can be happy here, in Seacombe.’
‘Would Cavill move back to America? After all, his daughter lives there.’
‘I haven’t asked him.’
‘Perhaps you should.’
If Cavill loves Eddie, I doubt he’ll leave her and move back to the States. If Gilda loves Taran, I don’t think she’ll want him to.
There’s another knock on the door. It’s Nessa with my tea. She’s made it quickly this time. ‘Miss Garrett, Mr Bentley wants you on stage.’
Gilda drains her teacup and gives it to Nessa. Then she leaves the room.
Nessa turns to me. ‘Is she unwell?’
‘No, just anxious about tonight.’ I lie as well as Gilda does.
Nessa nods. ‘She doesn’t look well, though, does she?’
‘She’s pale, I agree.’
‘I’d better prepare myself,’ Nessa says, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. ‘I have a feeling I might be required to play a bigger part on stage tonight.’
I narrow my eyes and then drop them into Gilda’s empty teacup. Did Nessa put something in her tea?
Mr Bentley wants Nessa to act as prompt while Gilda rehearses. I sit in the front row of the stalls and observe them both. Now I know how Nessa feels about Mr Bentley, I notice the pink in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes as she watches him. I don’t know how I missed those signs before.
I’m so engrossed in the action on stage, that I barely notice when Cavill comes and sits beside me. I turn to him in surprise. He looks at me and smiles. ‘Hello, stranger.’
‘Where have you been?’ I whisper. Every nerve in my body quivers with aliveness. Cavill is sunlight and I’m drinking him in like a solar panel.
‘I had business in London …’ He begins to tell me, in a hushed voice, what that business was. Something about investments, his broker, a meeting, lunch at the Ritz – I don’t listen. I’m too busy watching his lips move and wanting so badly to kiss them.
‘Shall we go to our usual place?’ he asks, and his eyes glint with mischievous intent. He’s Cavill at St Sidwell Manor sneaking into my bedroom at night.
I nod eagerly and we both get up. I doubt anyone notices us leave. There’s too much going on both on stage and off it. It’s like a hive of busy bees as they prepare for the dress rehearsal tonight.
I’m curious as to where our usual place is and follow him out of the theatre and into the sunlight.
It’s a twenty-minute stroll out of the town to a small, stony beach hidden among the rocks.
We reach it by way of a snaking path that meanders down a grassy slope, and then via narrow steps built into the cliff.
It’s a secluded spot, and one that can’t be reached any other way, and due to the precarious nature of the descent, not a place for dog walkers.
Snugly embraced at both ends by cliffs, it’s horseshoe in shape and sheltered pleasantly from the wind.
The sea stretches out to the far horizon, where it blurs into a hazy blue line.
‘Do you remember the first time you brought me down here?’ he asks and takes my hand.
‘Of course,’ I reply. How curious. I assumed that it was he who brought Eddie here.